As had been arranged earlier in the week, Brian and I met Donna and her mom, Barbara, at an RV park a couple of miles east of Salida, at 4:00 Saturday afternoon. They had driven down in Barbara’s 23-foot Winnebago motorhome. When we arrived they were sharing a picnic table with an elderly couple, watching birds and enjoying the shade from a nearby tree. After the introductions, we toured the motorhome — a very compact affair — then set up our tents. Before long, Donna and Barbara had spaghetti boiling and sauce simmering, and I was cutting up tomatoes for our salad. After dinner, we retired to “the Winnie” to thwart the mosquitoes, and play a round of “Oh Hell!” before hitting the sack. The alarm went off Sunday morning at 4:45. After a quick breakfast, we loaded our packs into my truck, and headed for the trailhead. By about 6:25, we were walking up the trail, past a group of several tents. Having been rebuffed by weather and deep snow while attempting the summit early in June, I was quite familiar with the area. After a short stroll up the Colorado Trail, we turned west onto the Mt. Shavano Trail, which wound steeply up, through the trees. Donna seemed to be getting off to a slow start, and a sizable group soon passed us. With frequent rest stops, we climbed ever toward timberline, crossing the creek fed by the Angel of Shavano couloir. After a while we reached the point where we had to choose between a bushwhack-and-snow-climb up the fast-fading remains of the Angel, and a trail hike into the peak’s southern saddle, just above the Angel. Donna and Brian both felt more amenable to continuing the trail hike, so we left the Angel for another day. Ascending the northern side of the Angel couloir, the trail climbed above treeline; as it did so, the view of the Arkansas Valley to the east became quite impressive. During one of our breaks, I spotted a group of eight or ten mountain goats crossing a snowfield higher up on the opposite side of the wide couloir. Clouds had begun to build ahead of us, and as we climbed, they sailed slowly over the saddle above us, reminding us that our slow pace would increase our risk of a thunderstorm high above treeline. At about 13,000 feet, still working our way westward, up toward the saddle, with clouds building ahead of us and Donna struggling to keep up, I decided that haste was needed. Climbing as rapidly as I could, I gained the saddle. After a brief rest, and with Brian and Donna still out of view below the saddle, I hiked to the base of the final talus slope to the summit. My companions finally appeared below, so I waited for them. When they came within earshot, they shouted that a long break was needed. Fearing that any significant delay would jeopardize the summit, I started the final climb up the talus. Although steep in spots, the talus was better anchored than on many other Sawatch peaks, and I made good time. At about 11:55, with rain falling a few miles to the east, and a few miles to the south, I trudged onto the top. Patches of sun dappled the forest below, as lightning smote the hills across the valley to the east. I quickly located and signed the register — mine was the twelfth entry for the day — and took some pictures. Another climber joined me, and, handing me her camera, asked if I would take her picture. She started down rather abruptly after another flash of lightning some miles to the east. I took a self-portrait, then started down, at about 12:10. After descending for about eight minutes, I met Brian and Donna, working their way up from the saddle. After some discussion, Donna chose not to continue the climb; Brian wavered, but he decided to sprint for the summit. As small, slushy hailstones began to pelt us, he started up, and Donna and I started descending; we waited for him just above the saddle, where I felt less threat of a lightning strike. After a while, we saw Brian descending. When he reached us, he reported making the top at 12:45. After a short rest, we started down. With insufficient interest among the party in a glissade down the deteriorating left arm of the Angel, we followed the trail as it descended steeply alongside the Angel. As we went along, it became apparent that both Brian and Donna were tiring. Although stumbling occasionally, Brian was still able to make a good pace, but Donna was having to stop frequently, complaining of sore feet and eventually, of light-headedness. We therefore set a very leisurely pace. We reached the trailhead at 5:15, with light, intermittent rain falling. Brian looked tired, Donna was clearly exhausted, and I had about 17 mosquito bites which would torment me for days. But I had my twenty-fourth summit. Shavano had denied me as I stood atop Tabeguache, two years before, and had turned me back little more than a month earlier. But persistence had paid off, as usual. We drove back to camp, and began our preparations for the return trip. Donna and her mom stayed a second night at the RV park, but Brian and I headed for home. I dropped Brian off just after 10:00, and after filling my empty fuel tank, I arrived home just before 11:00. Although I was tired, I still had the feeling of accomplishment that comes from a good day’s climb.

Warning: Mountain climbing entails certain risks and can be a dangerous activity. Many Colorado peaks have seen climbing fatalities. The most common factors in mountaineering accidents are poor judgement, inadequate physical conditioning and improper equipment. When faced with bad weather, fatigue or terrain that may be beyond your abilities, turn back. The mountain will still be there when you’re stronger, more experienced or better-equipped for another attempt. And remember: the summit is only the halfway point. Many accidents occur while a party is descending from the summit. If you climb, do not rely solely on the information contained herein. Do not assume that the route descriptions are completely accurate. The route descriptions were written after-the-fact from memory, and human memory is fallible. In addition, many factors (especially weather) can cause a route that is normally a “walk-up” to become a serious, hazardous proposition. Thoroughly research your route, have appropriate equipment, anticipate sudden and drastic changes in alpine weather, and know your abilities and limitations. Seek professional instruction before climbing, and build your climbing skills gradually: climb several easier peaks before attempting a more difficult route. Don’t become a statistic!

Text and photo(s) copyright © 2001 Mark R. Vanderbrook.
All rights reserved.